All Chapters of Fifteen Years of Craving The Wrong Love : Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

Lyssa POVSoon , the car dropped me.I step out and head inside, kicking off my shoes, not even bothering to put them away, and head straight for the bathroom. My elbow still hurts slightly, and my knee throbs with every step too. I turn on the faucet in the huge marble tub, letting the hot water fill it up while I strip out of my clothes as I sink into the bath, trying to see if it would relieve the ache in my heart. As I lie there, my mind replays the night over and over again. Zeta fought Marcus for me, actually punched his friend because he shoved me. That look in his eyes, that protective look, it made my heart race. But then Isabella called, and poof, he was gone. Just like that. He wiped away any concern for me and drove off to her. It was so easy for him to discard me, like I was some afterthought. I was already moving on from him, finally accepting that letting go is the best for both of us. I shouldn’t fight it anymore. I shouldn’t even think about him like that. He be

Lyssa POVHe returns and meets me in the kitchen, his gaze locking onto me the second he steps through the doorway. He stops there, arms crossed over his broad chest, just watching me with no words. Those dark eyes study every move I make.I try to act like I hadn’t noticed his presence as I try to keep my focus on the frypan, flipping the fried eggs, sliding toasted bread onto plates, acting like I don’t feel the weight of his stare burning into me.The silence stretches for long seconds. I don’t say a word. Finally, I can’t take it anymore.“You need to get ready for work,” I say without looking at his direction. “It’s getting late.”He doesn’t move. “I’m not going out today.”My hand freezes on the spatula. I turn just enough to glance at him. “Why?”He takes one slow step closer, then another, until he’s standing right in front of me.“Because I feel like spending the day with you.” His voice is calm.I huff out a short laugh and turn back to the pot, stirring nothing that needs

Lyssa POVMarcus drew a chair and waved his left arm as he signaled to the bartender to bring him a drink.His cheeks were hardened as he spoke “A bottle of whiskey.” He states.I ignore him and grab my purse and glanced around for another space, to change my seated position. I wasn’t ready to start a new uncomfortable conversation with him.My fingers tightened on the strap of my bag as I started to slide out of the booth but before I could stand, his hand shot out, not rough, just firm—and closed around my wrist.“Lyssa, wait.”I froze, looking down at his hand, then up at his face. Those dark eyes weren’t cold anymore. They were almost gentle.“Let go, Marcus. I’m not in the mood for this.”“I’m not here to fight,” he said quietly. “Zeta knows you’re here. He sent me to bring you home.”My stomach dropped. Of course he would. I yanked my wrist free and sat back down, looking up to him. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”Marcus sighed and leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Look,

Lyssa POVJust then, the room door is pushed open as he walks in. “Lyssa… why do I feel like you are not fine?” He asks. Why can’t he just let me be? Must he always bring this up?His fists are clenched tightly as I explain why I had left in a hurry. “Zeta, we’ve already spent the whole week hashing out these, and I am just… exhausted. Can you stop talking about it?”He stands there in the living room and his face stays calm, those eyes locked on mine without a flicker of rage. He nods once, slow and deliberate. “Fine. Get some rest, Lyssa. You look like you need it.”He notices, of course he does. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the wall. “Since I couldn’t celebrate your birthday with you, I’ve got you an offer. I want to sponsor your program. And for the 50 percent, you don’t have to use it in your studies. I’ll handle it.” I’m only half listening as his gaze keeps flicking over me and assessing, like he’s waiting for me to respond, to show how excited I a

Lyssa POVZeta stays away for three days, and he doesn’t pick up his calls. I pace around the living room, my phone clutched in my hand, dialing his number for what feels like the hundredth time. It rings and rings, then goes to voicemail. “Zeta, where are you? Call me back,” I mutter into the message, my voice cracking a little. The house feels too big and empty without him. The maid hovers nearby, offering me tea or soup, but I wave her off. I’m better now—the fever’s gone, thanks to the meds, but this silence from him is making my chest ache all over again.Is he okay? Is he safe? What’s going on with him? I’m worried. I try calling Roland next, Zeta’s best friend, the lawyer. The phone rings twice before going to voicemail. I don’t leave a message this time. Roland’s one of the most recognized lawyers in the city, always buried in high-profile cases, court hearings, and client meetings that drag on for hours. He’s probably in the middle of some intense negotiation or prepping